


With All of You

by pennywife



Series: With Your Whole Heart [2]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Attempted Murder, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Conflict, Dubious Morality, Dysfunctional Family, Established Relationship, Friendship, Good Pennywise (IT), Hurt/Comfort, Major Original Character(s), Mental Health Issues, Motherhood, Multi, Sexual Content, Some Humor, Weird Plot Shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:41:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25619053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pennywife/pseuds/pennywife
Summary: A year has passed with Pennywise back home safely. You’re doing your best to continue to grow as a person, and you’re thankful for your life every day, but having a family isn’t easy when you and your mate don’t always see eye to eye.
Relationships: Pennywise (IT)/Original Character(s), Pennywise (IT)/Reader
Series: With Your Whole Heart [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1856986
Comments: 29
Kudos: 142





	1. Halloween

**Author's Note:**

> If you like the way that With Prey ended then by all means, don’t read this lol. This chapter is full of stress, angst, conflict, and even gore. I know I originally intended for that fic to be lighthearted, but it turned out to be extremely bleak and upsetting and depressing at times— and I left open a lot of loose ends in case I ever wanted to return to it... which now I do. If you do decide to read this then please just, again be prepared for even more strife; as this journey is— once again— gonna get worse before it gets better. Thanks so much for reading guys!

The past year of your life has been… Well, it’s certainly been something. Happy? Yes. Full of love and excitement? Also yes. But underneath it there are problems… problems that you aren’t really sure how you’ll ever address. You keep telling yourself that you’ll understand better when you’re older, that you’ll be wiser and better equipped at being a perfect mother and a good wife and friend, but you’re deeply into your twenties now, so maybe aging isn’t as much of a crutch as you had thought it would be. 

Buddy and Pennywise still aren’t on good terms. To say that they’re even on decent terms would be uh— well, it would honestly be a straight up lie. They aren’t friends. They don’t even seem to really care for each other at all, like two male betta fish forced to live together in the same tank. They have their moments, sure, and ultimately you believe that they have some manner of love for each other in their hearts, but they do a pretty good job at keeping it hidden. Pennywise’s fatherly affections do not cross past the role of protector, and occasional disciplinarian; the same kindness and patience it shows to you not once expended towards your son. 

You try your best to stay positive though, especially after so many years of whining and yearning and complaining about things. You get to spend every day with the two people you love most in this world, part of the most magical and unique family that has ever been. 

And little Buddy has grown like a weed. He’s almost something that resembles a small child now rather than the almost-toddler of before. You’ve traded out his diapers for sweatpants— big boy pants, you’d called them, and he had been over the moon at the chance to change into them. His alabaster skin ripples with tiny yet iron muscles, strengthened from days spent romping in the privacy of your backyard and swinging from the branches of the old tree by the fence. Such a strong and fast little boy, shredding through nearly every article of clothing you tie around his palms in order to keep him from scratching himself. He grows more like his father every day, his teeth lengthening and his appetite growing more insatiable than you ever would have suspected— his tolerance for cooked meat slowly weakening to the point where he can only eat something if it’s bloody and warm and raw. It almost scares you sometimes, how fast he seems to be growing, and the thought of not knowing when or if it will ever stop, but just like everything else that you don’t really like to think about, you put those thoughts right out of your head. 

And that’s easy, because today is Halloween— your most favorite holiday in all of existence. It won’t be your first Halloween spent together as a family, but it’s the first Halloween where your son is finally old enough to go outside like all the other children, and that in and of itself makes you swell with joy and pride all day long. 

Pennywise isn’t home yet. It won’t be until later tonight, probably; using up the day to feed as much as it can so that it won’t have to leave your side again for a long while. Though it no longer feeds upon living human beings it still hasn’t shared with you the intricacies of its diet, but it doesn’t matter to you. You love it unconditionally, with your whole heart, and even if it told you that it was off to feed on a flock of preschoolers the way it did in the beginning— you don’t think you’d really care. Sure, maybe that’s not healthy, but no one has ever exactly accused you of having unshakable morals grounded in reality, so who gives a shit. It’s Halloween, baby! 

Your house is decorated to the nines. Fake cobwebs and immaculately carved jack-o-lanterns of everyone you love and fall-scented candles adorn nearly every surface space you have, and hatchling-friendly Hallowen movies play out on the television. The deep marks in your walls from Buddy and Pennywise only add to the ambiance, looking far less out of place in your spooky home than they usually look at all other times of the year. 

Beside you, in your bedroom and the master bathroom that connects to it, stand Ricky and Jody with apple ciders tight in their hands. They’re both fully adorned in costumes, happily in the spirit needed in order to help chaperone some proper trick-or-treating. You reach down to straighten out a wrinkle at the hem of your dress shirt and push up your oversized glasses, before all but squealing with joy at the sight of your son now fully dressed in a simple little costume of his own. 

It was Ricky who had suggested putting a sheet over Buddy like that scene in E.T., and though at first you had only laughed you quickly came around to the idea. The way your son has always peeked out through the window curtains with his gloves pressed tight to the glass shatters your heart into pieces. You want more than anything to give him this, this one small shred of normalcy in a life that is proving to be anything but. Even if it takes pulling a wacky high-jink straight out of an 80’s film, you’re certainly willing to give it a try. 

“And you are the most handsome little poltergeist in all of the land!” You croon, taking an ungodly amount of photos of the mound of white slowly scurrying around your bedroom. “Casper who? Bloody Mary who? Never heard of ‘em!”

Buddy purrs and pulls his limbs in close to himself, swaying joyously. His grasp on the English language is far from perfect, but he can always seem to sense your intentions and your energy no matter what. Even under the opaqueness of the cloth, you can still practically see him blushing at your words. 

“You know, we really messed up by not dressing up as the Ghostbusters,” states Ricky. “Now we’re just gonna look like three assholes and a ghost.” 

You turn and laugh. “Hey now, I really like my costume.”

“What is it again?” Jody asks. “A schoolgirl?” 

“I don’t know,” you shrug, tugging down at the edge of your plaid skirt. “I had it in my closet already. I think it’s supposed to be like a slutty nerd? I uh, added some layers though. I don’t know.”

“Slutty nerd? Ha! Didn’t you hear?” Ricky snickers. “You’re supposed to dress up as something _different_ for Halloween.” 

He turns and holds his hand up to Jody, waiting for a high-five that never comes. Instead Jody just takes a step back and looks him up and down, quirking one of his thick dark brows. “And what the hell are you supposed to be?” 

“Uh, I’m Lil Dicky. Obviously,” replies Ricky, with a heatless sneer. 

Jody laughs. “You look like a clown.”

“You look like you were made in a douche bag factory,” you add, and beam when Jody high-fives you instead. 

Ricky narrows his eyes at the man standing beside you. “Hey, well at least I’m not dressed as the fucking Riddler _,_ by _myself.”_

“There is a _child,_ in the room,” grates Jody, “and besides— you told me you were gonna dress as Batman!” 

“Sucks to suck, bitch.” 

They’re both laughing and teasing each other so loudly that they don’t seem to notice the sound of heavy footsteps suddenly creaking through the kitchen, but you do. You can sense your lover’s presence, home early; the shift in the air and the sweet smell of carnival food. While everyone else is still preoccupied in the room you go strutting out of it, happy to see the clown. 

“My Little One.” Pennywise smiles with its eyes, looking at you fondly. 

You grin at it and give it a twirl in your costume, wanting to show yourself off to it, and when you spin back towards it it’s already upon you. Its strong arm goes around to your back, bending your spine gently like a picture of a couple embracing after one of them comes back from the war. It holds you, firmly, just as it always does, and plants its mouth hard against your own. Pennywise always kisses you like this, ever since the day that it returned back to its health. It kisses you like it wants to suck the air from your lungs, like it worries that every time it gets the chance it will be its last. 

It tastes like iron, and you can’t get enough of it. Your mouth is soaked when it pulls away, drool dripping down your chin. It gives you a hungry, playful nip before you wipe it clean. You tell it you missed it today, and it lowers its hand down to the swell of your ass beneath your skirt. 

“Wear this for me tonight,” it purrs, curling its brow into that beautiful yet frightening look it gives to you whenever it wants to be dirty. “I want to look at you in it while I put my—”

The sound of something toppling over in your bedroom interrupts its words. Its head whips towards the source of the noise, freezing with your body still held tight in its arms. 

“I uh… Didn’t think you’d be back so soon.” You explain, clearing your throat. 

Its claws prick at your skin, and then it lets you go all at once before stiffening and heading back towards your room. You follow on its heels, excited for Pennywise to see the sight of your baby boy dressed as a cute little haunt. 

“We were just about to take Buddy trick-or-treating.” You tell it, when all at once it stops right there in the entrance of your room. “Do you wanna come with us?” 

It doesn’t answer. Its face doesn’t move a single muscle. 

“You probably wouldn’t even have to wear a costume,” Ricky points out. 

“Yeah you could just go like that,” adds Jody. 

Pennywise whips its head to stare at them for a short second, and then back down to glare at your son. Its painted lips twitch, before its opens them up into a silent snarl. “Take it off of him.” 

The air goes suddenly tense. You and Ricky and Jody all shoot each other an awkward, uncomfortable glance; unsure of what you’ve all done to make the clown so suddenly upset. Ricky jerks his head towards the tiny hatchling adorned in his sheet, gesturing for someone to obey the creature’s demand, but other than that no one moves. No one breathes, no one dares to make a single sound. 

“I told you to _take it off,”_ it hisses, and reaches down to rip the blanket off without hesitation. 

The tuft of hair on Buddy’s head whooshes at the force of it, his bright eyes squinting at the sudden change in the light. He drops his hands down to his side and lets out a strangled squeak before you quickly scoop him up into your arms. 

Buddy is so heavy now, and your knees tremble under his weight. Even Jody won’t try and pick him up anymore, his size too big and back claws too long and sharp to risk hanging around his belly; but it doesn’t matter to you. You once heard somewhere that someday you will put your child down for the last time, and you’re absolutely determined to make sure that day never comes. 

In front of you Pennywise looms tall and tense, its shoulders squared and eyes gleaming yellow when it shakes its head at you. “You would have let him outside?” It questions, angrily. “With everyone else?”

“He was gonna have a sheet on,” Ricky offers, but his voice is small and dry. Even after everything he’s still terrified of your mate, and you suppose you can’t really blame him. “No one would have known it was him.” 

The dark clown swivels its head to send him a fang-filled glance. “He cannot eat sugar. He cannot play with other children.” It turns back towards you. “Why would you do this?”

“I— it’s… To feel normal… I…” Face heating up red with embarrassment, you dart your eyes towards the doorway to gesture for your friends to leave the room. You aren’t really sure what’s going on— because sure, Buddy has never left the realm of your yard— but neither of you have ever explicitly stated that he was forbidden. It was only to keep him safe during the days when he was most vulnerable, when you feared what the outside world— and the Losers Club— may try to inflict upon him if they found out that he exists. “I don’t understand why you’re freaking out...”

“Are you a child?” Pennywise cocks its head. “Do you know how dangerous this is? Letting him run amok through the streets?” 

“He wouldn’t be ‘running amok’? What the— He’d be with _me._ With us, I mean, and we’d— we’d be holding his hand the entire time…” Buddy shifts around, moving to hang like a monkey on your back with his human arms locked around your chest and his spider legs tight around your waist. “You’re worrying for nothing. And I mean— Look at him, Penn. Look at the little guy. He just wants to go out and have a good time tonight like all the other kids. Y’know? He knows what tonight is… He doesn’t understand why he can’t be a part of it.” 

“He does not have to understand. Perhaps he never will.” 

Your face twists up. In the old days you would have been ready to fight it at that, letting your temper form words in your mouth through no wish of your own. You would have stood your ground and told your mate to simply get over whatever it is that’s making it overreact like this— but lately you’re trying your best to be a more accommodating person, even if you don’t really know what that means. 

“He’s a lot smarter than you think,” is all you say back, after biting your tongue. 

“No,” Pennywise shakes his head, looking your son over with cold indifference. “Though he is certainly more dangerous than you think him to be.” 

It takes a second, for the meaning of its words to fully register in your mind, and when they do it hits you like a slap. Your shoulders slump to your sides, heartbeat slowing and growing loud in your ears.

It isn’t upset because it thinks the humans outside may hurt your son, but instead because it thinks your son may try and hurt them. In all that it has been trying to be better, to no longer prey upon the human beings in the way it once did; it wants to be sure that its offspring never grows up to harm them as well. 

It makes sense in a way that you hate yourself for understanding, but it doesn’t stop you from rallying against it. Your son shouldn’t be forced to suffer so Pennywise can suddenly feel as if it’s doing something right; that much, you are convinced of. 

“So that’s what it is? You wanna keep our boy locked up because you’re afraid he might accidentally hurt some random person? What kind of a life is that?” 

Behind Pennywise, you catch a glimpse of Ricky and Jody finally tiptoeing out of the room. In any other situation it would honestly be funny, the two of them dressed in full costume while also trying to sneak away from this argument as inconspicuously as possibly, but right now you hardly even notice it. 

“A life that will keep him good.” It answers, sincerely. “A life that will keep him from feeding on others.” 

“What?! Jesus Christ it’s— he’s— we’re not going out purging! We didn’t give him a gun! For God’s sakes it’s— it’s just trick-or-treating. It’s just one night… How can you possibly think that this is reasonable? You think he was just, what, gonna suddenly go feral the second we let him out of the backyard?”

“He could,” Pennywise says sternly. “You do not know the extent of what he is capable of. Neither of us do.” 

“He’s not even dangerous!” You shout in defense. 

You can feel Buddy bristling at your back, a low growl rumbling in his throat. He can hear the newfound anger in your voice, ready to spring in your defense if the clown in front of you should dare to try and threaten you. For all that your son may still seem half-human, like you, he can still be so unnatural— so animalistic in nature. 

Pennywise’s jaw tightens, and it frustrates you how your mate suddenly seems as if it’s just proven a point.

“He can heal things,” you amend. “He’s a good boy.” 

“He cannot bring a human back from the dead.” 

“Neither can you,” you point out, crossing your arms out in front of yourself. “Tell me, Penny. How many people have you put into the ground since you’ve been here on earth? Huh? Should we lock you away? Should we keep you trapped in my house every day of your life? Should we sacrifice your freedom and your happiness just to keep a bunch of hypothetical people we don’t know safe?”

Ricky and Jody peer their heads back into the doorway, as if suddenly intrigued by where the argument is heading. 

A snarl rumbles in Pennywise’s throat, and it takes a step towards you. “What I did, when I left you… Do you think I laid down my life simply for the fun of it? Do you truly think it meant nothing?” 

Your cheeks go red at the reminder of Pennywise giving itself over to the Losers, wanting to rid the universe of itself so that you and your son may have a chance at a wholesome and happy life. It hurts you, in a way; that even though it once believed you were the key in raising your son to be good, it now thinks you may be the only thing standing in the way of Buddy becoming an eater of worlds. Geez, now that you think about it— that actually really stings. 

“No,” Pennywise answers itself, because you refuse to. “I did it for a reason. All that disgust you once felt at my habits, all the pain I could smell in your heart… All that turmoil raging inside, and the denial of what I did to little children whenever I was gone from you… Does it not feel better to be rid of it all?” 

“I’ve told you,” you shake your head, exasperated. “I never cared about any of that… I love you for what you are— all of it. I don’t care what you do. Not ever.”

It returns your look of exhaustion with a tired glare of its own. “And if it was him? Your sweet child? The one you raised from an egg?” Pity glasses over its eyes, shifting them from amber into blue. “What would you do if he ever became like me? What if he changed? What if we gave him the freedom to do as he pleases, and he someday turns into a monster?”

“Buddy _isn’t_ a fucking monster.”

“Because you love him.” The clown insists. “But what if you didn’t?” 

“What? I don’t— I—”

“Or what if he was human? What if he wasn’t mine? What if he was one of those children that I stole, whose flesh I fed upon without remorse— without thought?” 

“I don’t worry about that, because he’s not!”

“You do not see things for what they truly are, Little One. You do not question anything beyond the way that it makes you feel.”

“So?! If I did we wouldn’t be together!” Your knees tremble beneath you. “All these years you’ve done everything there is that you’ve wanted. You ate people, you tortured them; hell, you— You even got down and dirty with one of them… and now you suddenly wanna take the high road just because you think your son might maim some kid while out trick-or-treating? No! All of this,” you gesture out vaguely with your hands, “it means nothing past making yourself feel better, and that’s so fucking shitty to me. You’re supposed to care about our son… Not the species that would collectively slaughter you if they knew any of the shit you’ve done since you’ve last been awake.” 

Pennywise suddenly roars and bares its teeth at that, something it’s done about a thousand times out of instinctual anger, only this time you do something in response that’ll prove to be one of the biggest mistakes you could have made. 

It makes sense, when you do it. Buddy’s claws pierce through your skin with alarm, and so you raise your hand up and towards the back of you as a gesture of appeasement, trying to calm your son and instinctively put a divide between him and the being that’s riling him up; but in hindsight— well. All the warning Buddy gives you before snapping forward and clamping down onto your thumb is the sound of his lips parting open wide. 

When Buddy first hatched his way out of his shell, he was able to easily gnaw himself to freedom from the metal bars of his cage. There’s never been any doubts about the efficiency of his fangs, so it’s no surprise to you that you don’t even have to look to see if your thumb is actually gone. The way everyone else in the room goes suddenly still tells you everything that you need to know. 

Buddy climbs down from your back, desperately whimpering a high-pitched whine. It feels like a jolt of electricity coursing its way through your hand, warm like lighting and fire when the pain strikes through your nerve-endings. You refuse to look at it, but you’re almost certain you can hear the trickling of your blood pouring down onto the carpet. 

“I think I’m gonna be sick.” Ricky turns and braces himself against the doorframe, his face turning suddenly white. 

Jody rushes in towards Buddy to comfort him, as Pennywise stands horrified in front of you— its wrists locked down straight by its sides as if it has no idea what on earth it should do. 

The pain is about as bad as you would imagine it to be, dull and yet unimaginably strong throbs of agony pulsing through the stump of your finger. 

“I can’t look. Holy shit. It’s okay, Buddy, I— Mommy is just— Holy shit. Can somebody find my thumb?” 

“I’ll go get a cooler,” offers Ricky, choking on a gag. 

“Can Buddy even heal that?” Asks Jody. 

Just like Pennywise, you have no idea what on earth you should do. It’s like you’re suddenly the most stupid person who ever lived, or an alien that has never done a single human activity in all of their life. You just stand there dumbly, bleeding and staring at the clown in front of you in shock. 

Ricky responds from the kitchen, hurriedly filling up ice. “Don’t risk it,” he says, and comes back with the cooler and a wad of paper towels. He all but throws them at you, having always been disgusted by the sight of gore and blood since you were all little kids. He reaches down towards the wet, bloody thumb and gingerly tosses it into the tiny Igloo in his arms. “Come on,” he urges, reaching out to help guide you out of the room. “I’ll drive you to the hospital— Jody, you stay here with Buddy.”   
  
“Bye, Buddy,” you coo gently, “Mommy is just gonna run to the hospital— and then— Oh God, the _hospital…”_

“Shut up,” hisses Ricky, as you both rush out to the car. “If I can deal with blood, you can deal with— oh, are you uh? Are you gonna ride too?” 

It takes you a second to realize he isn’t talking to you, but instead the clown following close behind. 

It hesitates. Then it says, “No. No, just get her there safely. Please.” 

Ricky nods, and then helps you buckle into the passenger seat. You sit there, numbly, with your amputated finger resting in the cooler on your lap. 

“My car is filthy right now,” he says. “Don’t look at it.” “Matter-of-fact just— just close your eyes. Pretend it’s not even there.” 

Ricky only has one CD in this car, and the only song that isn’t scratched up is Someday by The Strokes— a band that you’ve hated ever since your ex first made you listen to them. It becomes the anthem for your late evening adventure to the emergency room, skipping at the end before he presses repeat. 

“To be honest, I kind of really don’t even feel anything anymore.”

“I think you’re in shock.” 

“What if they sew it on backwards?” You ask, suddenly worried. You’ve always been afraid of doctors and surgeons and the awkwardness of checking into places, and you really don’t know how to explain what’s happened to your finger when they ask. God, now you’re nervous. You’re stressed and you’re nervous. “What if I accidentally catch on fire during surgery? I saw this documentary once, about how your body has all these different gasses in it, and so sometimes when the doctors cut you open it can— wait, what the hell is that?” 

A burst of orange slices across the sky. It lights up your window like a blown transformer, a second sun falling down towards the earth. It moves fast, but not so fast that you miss it— a missile, maybe, or a comet. 

“Probably just a wrapper or something. I told you, don’t be judgin’ how messy my car is right now.” 

“No!” You exclaim, “Up in the sky! What the— what _is_ that?!” 

You catch Ricky rolling his eyes in the rear view mirror. “You’re hallucinating,” he assures you, before reaching towards the volume knob on his stereo— clearly wanting to drown you out. 

“Ricky, I’m serious!” You hiss, but when you turn back to the window to tap on the glass to point at it you find that it isn’t even there anymore. The sky is just as navy and yellow as it was before you ever saw it. “Oh,” you murmur, and settle back in your seat. “Whoops.” 

You close your mouth, and try instead to just listen to the music to distract yourself from the pain. You don’t say another word the entire drive. 

  
  
  


* * *

  
  


“Well, today went well,” says Ricky, as the two of you sit calmly side by side in the crowded waiting room. 

You shoot him a look, but you’re too tired to make a quip. All the blood feels like it’s been drained from your skin, and the pain from your wound has returned like the sting of a hornet to the place where your thumb used to be. 

You feel sad. Not for yourself, but for your son; who will not only miss out on the Halloween night that he was excited for, but who will also have to spend the rest of the night stressed over whether his mother is going to be okay. Jody texted you a couple minutes ago and said that Buddy was fine, just a little shook up; but it doesn’t matter. It’s still sad. 

Suddenly the doors of the hospital hiss open, and you hear footsteps squeaking over towards you. You and Ricky had picked a pretty isolated spot to sit in, so you’re absolutely dreading the thought of someone else coming over near you— until you recognize the tall young man standing before you. 

“Hey,” says human Pennywise. His voice is hoarse, and he looks every bit as exhausted as you feel. 

“Hey,” you and Ricky say back, and he sits down beside you. 

This place is busy, which isn’t really surprising, considering it’s both Friday night and Halloween. The sound of people coughing and arguing and opening doors feels like a macabre chorus of tragedy— the smell of antiseptic strong in your nostrils. Even through all of it though you can still smell your mate, can still feel it staring at you even when your eyes are trained on the television in the corner. You aren’t mad, not really, but it still makes you soften into the hard surface of your seat.

“I do not wish to fight with you,” Pennywise whispers, leaning over towards your ear. “I love you. I love you more than anything on this earth.” 

“Do you love me more than you love our son?”

The shapeshifter leans away. It raises a long finger to its mouth, and quirks its lips. “Is that truly so wrong of me?” 

_“Yes,”_ you answer. You turn your knees towards it, and suddenly there are fat tears filling up in your eyes. “Yes... It’s wrong… You’re his parent... You’re supposed to love him more than anything else— anyone else— no matter what.”

“You did not love him.” It points out, though it isn’t cruelty in its voice, only curiosity. “Not always.”

“No. I didn’t.” You answer, and your hand throbs. “I didn’t see him as mine. I wasn’t…” The words aren’t easy to find, but you search for them anyway. “I wasn’t right after I had him. I didn’t understand what he was to me, and I just… I know it isn’t an excuse, but...” A sigh falls from your lips. “The way I treated Buddy, I will regret that for the rest of my life. The look on his face when I hurt him…”

“And so you must spend the rest of your life coddling him to make up for it? How could that help?” 

“I’m not coddling him, though. I’m just trying to be a good parent. I just want him to feel loved, and be happy…”

“You would let him wreak havoc on this world— if it made him happy?”

“Why do you think that’s what’s going to make him happy?” You ask, desperately. “I’ve never even… He’s never even been violent…”

Pennywise glances down at the cooler in your lap. 

“Besides tonight.” A beat passes. You can feel yourself sweating beneath the fabric of your costume, wanting to get through to your mate but having absolutely no idea how. “You know, I think what bothers me most about this is that sometimes I don’t even know if you love him at all…”

“He is my son,” murmurs Pennywise, as if that’s an answer. It isn’t. 

Sadness weighs your shoulders into slumps. A part of you understands it. You think of the inner agony that your lover went through during the length of your relationship, feeling at odds with the fact that though its favorite form may be similar to a human— it was always born to be a predator. You may not have seen how affected it was at the time, but falling in love with you; and being faced with the dilemma of preying upon the same species as its mate had nearly killed it. It had been ready to die— ready to actually die— in order for all of it to stop. You may not know exactly how it feels to look in the mirror and hate what you are so much that you’d rather be dead than keep suffering it, but you can understand. Ceasing its murderous tendencies and keeping your son kept tight under its wing are the best ways it knows how to control the situation. 

“All that pain you felt… Before you tried to…” You don’t have to say it aloud. It knows what you mean by the look on your face. “Do you think that maybe… Maybe you’re trying to keep Buddy away from people so that he never has to worry about those instincts— the ones that you hate? The ones you’ve tried to keep buried?” 

Tears fill up its eyes as well. You’ve never seen it cry before. Again, it asks you, and its voice suddenly shakes. “Is that truly so wrong of me?” 

The two of you look at each other for a long while, and then it leans forward to wrap you up in a soft hug. 

You’ve said it before, but your son didn’t come with any instructions on how to raise him. He is a creature unlike anything else on this earth, and you and your husband are so different from each other that it only makes sense for these things to happen— for the two of you to butt heads on things when it comes to raising your child. 

And maybe you’re the problem, most of the time. Pennywise says that you don’t address your problems head on— that you don’t consider things past how they make you feel, and it’s right. You don’t. You don’t think about the people you’ve hurt, that you’ve used and discarded and judged for things that don’t matter at all below the surface. You don’t think about what will happen if Pennywise has to go back to sleep, which is something that becomes far more likely with how much less it uses its powers every single day. You don’t think about what happens when you die and your mate is left alone to raise your child without you. You don’t think about what happens when Buddy grows up, or how he’s going to function in a world where there’s nothing else out there quite like him. You don’t think about how your parents will never be able to meet their grandson, or about all the terrible things that could someday happen to any of the people that you love. 

You don’t, because you can’t; but you don’t think that Pennywise’s way is exactly right either. There has to be some middle ground that’s more healthy, but right now, you’re pretty doubtful you’ll ever be able to find it. 

A nurse calls you back. You turn to give your mate and your best friend a wave goodbye, and they both wave back at you with worry gleaming bright in their eyes. 


	2. Hallucination

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You have an odd experience after waking up from your surgery, and then Pennywise lovingly comforts you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes a major tonal shift about halfway through or so, but it felt way too weird to split this up into two chapters. Other than that, I'm actually pretty happy with how this chapter turned out! It was admittedly kind of hard trying to get back into the swing of writing this Reader character and still keeping in mind all that she's gone through over the last fic--- trying to let her keep her personality a bit but not really regress, I mean... But yeah. :) Lots of mean stuff is said to/about reader here which can be upsetting, so be prepared for that though.

“It’s a good thing it was just the tip, really,” someone— maybe a nurse— had murmured whenever you’d started to wake up, and it’d taken every fiber of your being not to make a joke about how that had sounded. 

Other than that though, everything after your surgery has been an absolute haze. 

You feel loopy. You feel like that episode of Spongebob where one of the characters keeps flicking on that orb of confusion or whatever the hell it was called, sleepy and tired and sick. But hey you know, at least your thumb doesn’t hurt anymore. Besides being vaguely aware of all the bandages wrapped around your meticulously repaired hand, you can hardly even feel a damn thing. 

It doesn’t really matter all that much if you’re lucid, though. Good Ole Pennywise The Clown leads you everywhere you need to go, your legs wobbling mindlessly behind it as it guides you from hallways to sidewalks to vehicles to even more sidewalks. You look up at the back of its human form with stars gleaming in your eyes, threading your finger through a loop of at the back of its jeans.

_ It’s probably just the drugs, _ you think, before the toe of your shoe catches on a crack and you nearly go tumbling down to the concrete below.  _ Okay so it’s definitely just the drugs,  _ but everything that’s happening right now all makes sense in a way you don’t know how to explain. You know how it sounds, but it’s almost like you’re both supposed to be here. Maybe that’s stupid. Maybe you put too much importance into whether or not what you do on this earth really means anything, but you squeeze at the thin blue stretch of fabric being pulled by the bend of your finger just a little bit tighter anyway. 

“Do you think she’s actually happy?” 

Jody’s voice echoes through the haze, and before you know it you’re standing squarely in the living room. Pennywise is suddenly gone. So is Buddy, when you crane your neck to try and look for him. It’s just you and Ricky and Jody, all poised together in the shape of a triangle over your rug. 

Your head cocks over to the side. You don’t even remember getting home. 

“Do I think that  _ who’s _ happy?” You ask curiously, though no one bothers to answer. You’re standing just a few feet away from where they’re both sitting, but it’s almost like neither of them even know that you’re here.

“Of course she’s not happy,” snaps Ricky, his back slouching over the arm of your sofa. “You’d have to be an  _ idiot _ to think she’s happier now than she was before.”

“Yeah, you’re right. At least whenever she drank she was funny  _ sometimes.” _ Jody shrugs and drops his eyes down to the floor, the brim of his hat casting a shadow over his face. “Now she’s just like… this... weird... shell. Yeah, that’s it. She’s a  _ shell.”  _

Something twists in your gut; that awful feeling of being insulted by someone you love snaking like thorned branches around your belly. You don’t know how yet really, or even why, but you know without being told that they’re most definitely talking about  _ you.  _

“Yep.” Ricky shifts in his seat, and even though he knows he isn’t supposed to smoke in your house he reaches into his pocket for a half-empty pack anyway. There’s disgust in his eyes, but he closes them for a second when he tucks a cigarette into the curve of his lips. “Zero personality, but still with all the bitchines. Like, fuck dude. I don’t even know who she is anymore.”

Your face floods suddenly red. Your knees buckle beneath your body like a newborn fawn, toes digging into the carpet to try and keep yourself up. 

“Hey guys,” you begin, bouncing your eyes back and forth between the two of them. “Is this a bit we’re doing? Cuz if not then I’m uh— I’m literally right here. Can you guys— Holy shit, can you guys even see m—?” 

“Remember when she was actually comfortable talking about sex?” Asks Jody, only it doesn’t really feel like Jody anymore. It feels like a puppet, or like someone tried to sculpt him but they couldn’t really remember what he looked like. 

_ Oh man,  _ you think, starting to panic. This isn’t a dream, but you’re starting to feel like maybe this isn’t quite reality either. Then again-- strangely enough, all of this is almost familiar to you in a way. Familiar, yet creepy and unnatural, almost like… No. No way, it couldn’t be that. It couldn’t be Pennywise doing this; the way that it can mess with people’s heads and make things appear that aren’t really there. What a silly thought. You know your lover. You know what it’s capable of, but you know that It would never do something like this to you. 

Up in front of you, Jody and Ricky still haven’t grown tired of verbally ripping you apart. You watch with your hands hanging limply at your sides, unable to even find the words to protest against them. It feels like you’re being punished, and you have no clue why. 

A half a beat passes before Jody curls his upper lip into a look of disgust. His once bright eyes darken as he continues on, “and now she just like, pretty much cringes away from us whenever anyone brings it up. She must be embarrassed of how gross she used to act about that stuff, if she’s able to pull such a complete one-eighty.” He pauses for a split-second before another wave of vitriol washes over his face, “And holy shit, Ricky, the way she  _ smothers _ that  _ kid— _ it’s borderline unhealthy!” 

“Uh,  _ duh.”  _ The other man agrees.  _ “ _ She’s overcompensating for shit, dude. Like… Did you know she threw a fucking  _ bottle _ at him once? Yeah, I know, right? Said he gashed his leg all to pieces.” 

You let out a gasp at that. Tears gather in your eyes. 

You don’t understand what’s happening. You’ve never once told Ricky that story, and you don’t understand how the two people you call your very best friends could ever say such horrible things. 

“Holy shit...” Jody’s mouth opens into a look of surprise at what he’s just heard, before clamping back down into a snarl. “That explains it then; why all she ever does anymore is whine and try to act sentimental all the time.”

Your whole body flinches as Ricky suddenly cackles out a loud and dark laugh. It rises up to the ceiling of your living room, past all your pumpkins and decorations and framed photos of your son. “She’s like one of those weird Disney moms now.” The young man points out, finally reaching up to light the end of his cigarette. “Except, y’know, without the Disney, because she’s white trash as shit and just lets her kid watch Goosebumps all day long.”

Jody laughs too. “Oh my god, dude, you’re right... Plus there’s nothing going on in her life whatsoever… Bet she’ll pop out another baby in a couple months to try and excuse why she has absolutely zero hobbies or goals outside of dating a literal Freddy Krueger.” 

“Yeah… God. She needs therapy, man.” 

“She needs to break up with that clown.” 

“That too.” Ricky pauses, as if seriously thinking this all over. “Both honestly. She should just start over at this point— Let Pennywise go back down to sewer town and then maybe she can check herself into rehab or something.” 

“God knows her parents can afford it. I mean, look at this house,” Jody throws his hands up to gesture at the space of your home. 

“She wouldn’t have shit if she had to work for it on her own.”

“She barely goes to work as it is, what with Pennywise always mind-controlling her boss.”

“Full circle, dude. She doesn’t do anything!” Ricky throws his arms up in the air. “I mean, I know I’m no fuckin’ Dan Bilzerian or anything, but at least I leave my goddamn house every now and again. How the hell is she just like— okay with being cooped up all the time with that clown? I mean, I’d prolly lose my fuckin’ mind...” 

With that you’ve had enough. You press your palms up to your ears and let out a scream, hoping that if somehow this really is a dream then maybe it’ll help you wake up. Your jaw stretches open, throat aching; and just as soon as a tiny sound first leaves you there’s a gentle tugging at the hem of your shirt. 

“Little One?” 

Peeling your wrists away from your head, you slowly realize you aren’t actually in your living room at all. Instead you’re in your bedroom, standing by the edge of the bed with Pennywise staring up at you. 

Now your heart starts to thud. What the hell was that? What the hell is going on? 

“Was I just— Was I asleep?” You ask, fully panting. 

The clown’s eyes cloud blue with confusion. It’s dark in your room now, but the paint of its face is bright enough to let you see clearly the look of surprise carved into its skin. “I…” 

“Did Ricky smoke in here?” You question again, too impatient to wait for an answer. Sweat pools at the back of your neck, and even though a part of you doesn’t want to ask, you still ask it anyway. “All of that just now…” Teeth clamping down on your tongue, you stop yourself from instinctually asking your lover if it was all somehow its own doing. Instead you take in a shaky little breath, and ask, “What I just saw… Was it— Was I hallucinating? Was any of that stuff real?” 

As if suddenly snapped free from a trance, all the uncertainty vanishes from Pennywise’s face. “You are sick, my love. You are sick from the medicines they gave you for your pain. Come here,” it says, “Come lie down in my arms.”

Your feet shift. “But… But Buddy, he…”

“I already put him to bed, long ago.” Pennywise slides back further to make more room for you. “I fed him, and cleaned him, and now he is sound asleep.” 

“Oh. Uh, okay. Th-thank you for doing that...” 

Your head nods, but a sense of unease tugs at your chest. It’s a thoughtful gesture, one your mate so rarely does on its own, but you cringe at how that must have gone down. Maybe you should just go back in there for a second, pop your head in and tell him that his mother is perfectly fine...

“You look ill,” Pennywise states after some time, when you don’t make a move to do anything at all. 

You raise your unwounded hand to the back of your skull, scratching softly at your hair. “I think I’m fine. I think I just had a nightmare, or something, but it… It didn’t feel right and it…”  _ It hurt,  _ you think to yourself.  _ It really fucking hurt.  _

“So then come to sleep.” 

“I can’t.” Head shaking, your lips twist up into an awkward frown. “I want to… I can’t.” 

There’s still a black cloud looming over you, an odd sense of shame over something that you’re starting to think may have only been your own mind playing a horrible trick on you. Your friend’s cruel words still echo out through the darkness of your bedroom, and you soon find more than anything that you almost feel  _ guilty.  _ For the first time in a long while, you feel guilty just for being yourself. 

“I don’t know how to balance anything,” you admit, without even meaning to open your mouth. 

The bells on Pennywise’s suit jingle quietly as it sits up on the mattress. The blank canvas of its forehead curls up into a gnarled look of worry, and you turn your cheek away because that makes you feel guilty too. 

“I don’t know how to not be too much of something.” Your voice drops to a half-whisper, eyes staring down at the carpet by your bedposts. “I try to be a good mother to Buddy, and I know that what we’re doing with him now can’t possibly be the way to go; but now there’s something inside of me that wonders if maybe I’m smothering him-- like you say. You know, I— I try to express myself; but then I’m always whining. I do what feels good; but then I’m just a—”

“You are my mate.” Pennywise interrupts. “My wife,” it purrs, affectionately. 

“Yeah, but—”

“Do you remember what you said to me once?”

“There’s honestly no telling,” you breathe out, hoping it isn’t something embarrassing.

The clown rolls its eyes, but the fondness on its face stays vivid and warm. It reaches out to you and swallows up your hand in its own gloved palm. “That there has never been anything wrong with what you are...”

A deep rush of emotion swells inside of you. You have to physically pause for a second just to get through it, pain suddenly tapping at the backs of your eyes. Its comfort sings to your heart, and all at once you want it to hold you. Tears on your cheeks, you climb into the bed as artfully as you can without putting any weight on your wounded hand.

“Swear that you mean it?” You plead, once you’ve nestled up against the impossible warmth of its body. 

“Why would I ever lie to you?” 

A thought settles in your mind like a sore. You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment and think back on how it lied to you when it told you that the two of you couldn’t have children, how it lied to you when it told you it didn’t want to be with you anymore; but you refuse to bring it up. It would be wrong of you; petty and wrong. 

You push the memories out of your mind, and instead something curious takes their place. 

Even though your mate tries to hold you steady you still manage to wriggle out of its arms and turn around to look at its face. “You told me Buddy wasn’t a monster to me because I love him.”

Pennywise blinks at you, unable to see what you’re getting out now. 

“So then what if…” Your voice comes out too weak to be heard, so you stop and clear your throat. “What if that’s how it is with me? What if I  _ am _ bad, and messed up, and you see me as good solely because you love me? I mean… You’re probably the first person in my life who’s ever really accused me of being ‘good.’” 

It shakes its head. “You are good.”

“I’ve done a lot of shitty stuff before...”

“And have I not?” Pennywise poses, rhetorically.

This time it’s you who doesn’t know how to answer. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, and feel a few stray tears rolling over the underside of your eyes.

“All that you are, I accept it. All you may think you have done wrong, I forgive it. I can see everything you’ve ever done in your life, and I love you for each and all of it. I love everything you are; all of you, forever.” It presses its face in close to yours, its long forearm bracing your spine and curling in on you like a question mark. “What can I say to make you believe me? Hm, Little One? I have wanted you since the beginning. I followed you home. I fell in love with you when you did nothing more than anger and annoy me.”

You try to let out a laugh at that, but instead it comes out as a sob. 

“You have grown so much since those days, and even if you cannot see it yourself, I love that about you as well.”

The clown looks at you for a moment, and you swear it almost looks desperate. You know that look now, only from it; having realized only recently that that’s what it looks like when someone loves you so much it makes them feel afraid. It pulls you in for a firm but gentle kiss, and the salt of your crying leaves smudges all over its handsome face. 

_ I love you too,  _ you think, and once you’ve calmed down enough you’ll say it to your mate aloud.  _ I love you too, Pennywise. Everything about you, forever as well… And I don’t know if there’s anything out there, watching us; but if there is then I’m so fucking thankful it let me find you. I want you with me forever. I never want you to let me go. _

  
  



	3. A Peaceful Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Pennywise try to watch a movie together while your son sleeps soundly upstairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short, gratuitous, domestic chapter that also gives a little insight into some of Reader’s feelings about stuff. Slight feels and smutty content ahead

“So I know it’s not The Descent or anything, but—”

“No.”

“—it could—”

“No.”

“— be even _better_ than The Descent.” You give your mate a hopeful glance, your face illuminated only by the light of the television. “Never gonna know ‘til you try it.” 

Pennywise frowns. “There is no need to try it. I have seen Cave, and it is perfect. I have no need to be disappointed by anything else.” 

You hate how much sense that makes. It takes you aback honestly, and all you can do is stare slack-jawed at the stubborn clown sitting on the couch directly beside you until you shake your head to try and snap out of it. 

“Well what if we just uh— What if we watch the trailer? And if you hate it we won’t watch it.” 

“Fine.” 

“But you have to be honest,” you add. “You can’t just lie and say you hate it just cuz you don’t wanna watch it.” 

The clown pauses. Its yellowed eyes dart over towards you in an almost-scowl, then back to the screen once more. “Fine.” 

A small pang of victory rushes through you, still easily thrilled by the idea of being able to persuade a being so powerful and frightening. Pennywise may not be the child killing machine it once was, but to say it isn’t still scary as shit would just be false. It’s the most horrifying creature on this earth by a country mile, and you love every bit of it. 

Smiling fondly, you give your lover’s hand a squeeze before dropping it to pick up the remote. 

The word husband pops into your head. Not just your lover; your _husband._ You may not be married in the eyes of the law, may not have had a backyard wedding or a grand ole outing in some vineyard, but to the both of you you’re as married as it gets. 

“I will watch it,” Pennywise announces, after watching about thirty seconds of post-apocalyptic chaos. 

Your smile grows, and after you head back to Netflix you wait in total darkness for ‘THE BAD BATCH’ to light up the screen. 

The movie starts. You pull a blanket up to your chin and settle down beside Pennywise’s body, feeling the shape of it beneath its suit. A thought pops into your head, wondering why it doesn’t ever just wear like, a Grateful Dead t-shirt and some boxers or some shit. You decide not to say anything, but the idea of watching it lounge around in some gray sweatpants unlocks something inside you that you never knew was there. You’re just about to say “fuck this movie, fuck me instead,” when you look over and find Pennywise fast asleep— its massive head lolled back over the frame of the sofa. 

Unable to help feeling just a little disappointed, you let out a sigh. It’s always doing this lately, always falling asleep just when the two of you finally have time alone together, but you refuse to worry about just why that is. 

So whatever yo, it’s fine. You end up watching the movie by yourself anyway, and actually enjoy it way more than you expected. Sure it’s messy and weird and you don’t know if you really get it yet, but you’re invested enough in the main character— a young woman who loses two of her limbs— to feel your heart drop when suddenly it hits you. 

You recently lost a part of yourself too. 

Well, maybe “lose” isn’t the right word. The doctors reattached it, but as it turns out thumbs are pretty fucking important— especially on the dominant hand. Even healed, there’s still a scar, and it’s still hard for you to do a lot of the things that you used to. It catches you off guard, how watching this movie suddenly feels sour. Your stomach drops and goes cold as ice, like that feeling you get when you hear one of the songs that played at that party in that trailer a couple years back. It makes you feel scared and sad and embarrassed for a reason you can’t understand. You’ll never be able to sculpt again, or carve things as beautifully as— no. 

You know what? No. You don’t get to feel sad and sulk the way you used to. It’s just a thumb, just a scar; so insignificant and small. The girl in the movie lost an arm and a leg. You don’t deserve to compare yourself to her. You haven’t let yourself whine over your thumb since the incident, so why the fuck should you start now? 

The cold feeling passes on its own. You finish the movie, still not ever really getting the point of it, but unable to stop thinking about it now that it’s over. Especially the main character...

Oh geez, not like that. Just the idea of her; so alone and free, wandering around by herself through the desert and looking up at the painted sky. If you had ever been able to move out of Derry— really move out of Derry, not just another state away so you could pretend to move on— you think you would have moved to the desert. 

Your hand reaches out to try and rouse Pennywise awake. Instead its body just limply shakes, sleeping so deeply you could probably play bongos on its head and it wouldn’t even flinch. The thought tempts you, honestly, but you decide instead to go check on your son. 

Upstairs, in his room, Buddy sleeps every bit as soundly as his father. He looks more like the both of you every day, the human parts of him developing more childlike than the old baby-faced features of before; all worlds away from the tiny creature that came squawking out of his egg. The spider legs that extend from his back are so much bigger than they used to be. Hell, all of Buddy is bigger than it used to be. You’ve traded his crib for a twin-sized bed, his old red mittens for the most massive oven-mitts you could find, and yet he’s still about to wear them down. 

Warmth fills your chest, just at the sight of him— so healthy and young. He still doesn’t care for your husband, but he thinks the world of _you._ You press your fingers up to your mouth and kiss them, and then plant them gently back down to the side of his perfect head. 

“Night, Buddy,” you whisper, before heading back to the door. 

Buddy doesn’t wake up, but he lets out a pleased little sound as you make your way down the stairs. 

It’s late. You check your phone to see what time it actually is, but inevitably decide it’d be a shame to waste such a peaceful Saturday night to yourself. Besides, there’s a bunch of new shit on Netflix and you have a half a case of orange soda left in the fridge. Pity to waste that too. 

Your feet pop against the carpet at the landing, over tiny tears and stains in the fabric that you’ve given up on trying to keep nice. On your way through the living room you run your fingers through your husband’s soft hair, something you often do when it’s asleep, only this time it catches your wrist in its hand. 

“It’s me,” you gasp, and it turns its spine unnaturally backwards to look at you. 

“I know,” Pennywise whispers. “Come here.” 

Its arm crosses over the top of its head as it guides you around to stand in front of it, your body casting a shadow from the glaring light of the screen. The clown’s thighs are so big, so long, stretched out wide in the center of the couch. 

“I smelled you,” it says. Even though you can hardly see its eyes, you can still tell they’re glazed over with sleep. “In my dreams, the heat of you…” Its hand lowers yours down to the front of its pants, hard and warm beneath the fabric. “Were you thinking of me?” 

You touch it for a moment, watching its face. “At the beginning of the movie. Too bad you fell asleep on me…”

“I am awake now,” the clown replies, almost desperately, even though you were only teasing it. Your body goes soft when it pulls you into its lap and you spread your legs wide so that it can feel you, too. Already you can feel yourself burning again for it to make love to you, aching for it as it reaches down between you. 

“Yeah,” you answer. “You’re awake now.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks a thousand times for reading!!


	4. Tell Him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super short!!!!

When Buddy was only a baby, small enough to be easily held in your arms, you always did your best to give him a bath at least once every other day. Now though, and _especially_ after losing some of the mobility in your dominant hand, you really just do it whenever you can. 

Luckily for you, today your son happens to be exhausted. Exhausted, and just docile enough for you to get him down into the water safely enough to not risk losing another appendage in the process. 

“Too hot, Buddy?” 

You watch your son’s glistening eyes as he settles deep into the bath, his gaze locked down onto his own gloveless hands. Buddy splays open his fingers before curling them in again, flexing them, before silently shaking his head.

 _“No,”_ he gestures. 

His claws are the longest they’ve ever been before. Long, black, and unable to be retracted; much like the talons of one of the eagle-like birds in those documentaries he always wants to watch lately before you carry him upstairs to his bed.

It can’t be comfortable, always having to be bound by all that thick padding and woven cotton, but after the incident Pennywise refuses to budge on the matter at all. It says that it’s just way too dangerous, for you and Buddy both, to risk letting him run around without his mittens. Times like this, you cannot help but agree. 

Speaking of the clown, you’re just pouring a cup of water back over Buddy’s head when all of a sudden his whole body goes entirely stiff within the pool. The young child’s eyes go suddenly wide, glaring unnervingly at the doorway behind you.

He’s always hated it whenever his father steps in to interrupt his bathtime— despised it, rather. 

“Hey Pennywise,” you begin, before craning your neck around, “could you hand me th—” split flings out onto the mat. Your words catch in your throat. 

There’s no one out there, just an opened door and an empty stretch of pastel hallway behind it. 

  
  


* * *

“So our house is definitely fucking haunted.” 

Pennywise lifts its massive head up from the arm of the sofa. The stitching of it is imprinted clearly onto its cheek, its makeup smeared onto the fake black leather upholstered onto it. The creature rolls its eyes, only as soon as it’s been able to process what you’ve just said to it, of course. 

“ _I_ am the only thing that haunts this place,” it replies flatly. The dark clown settles back down to nap before its plump lips pull into the slightest of smiles. “I, and your _awful_ sense of humor...” 

“I come to you in my time of need, and you decide to fuckin’ _roast me?”_

“I did _not_ roast you,” it murmurs, grinning now with its painted eyelids still completely closed. “I _insulted_ you.” 

“Big dummy, that’s the same th— Ugh,” you fake a growl and kick your foot out to nudge its hip, stirring it awake again. “I’m serious, Penn. There’s some really weird shit going on around here lately.” 

It sighs, dramatically. “Such as..?” 

“Well, first off,” you begin, crossing your arms behind your back like a person about to give a grand ole speech, “there was that weird ass hallucination I had a while back in my room... Then there was the one before it, when I was on my way to the hospital, where I thought I saw a meteor that one night or whatever the hell— and then today I—”

“So you are seeing things?” Pennywise asks, its eyes suddenly bursting open yellow with concern. 

“Yes!”

“Then I have solved it,” the clown sits up, feigning deep thought. It looks around the rug beneath your feet, tracing the woven pattern, then suddenly it reaches out to ruffle the top of your head. “My poor little mate has lost her mind...” 

A sneer pulls across your face as you take a step back from it, though not before your hair lies in a tangled mess over your eyes. You bat its arm away, a heatless act, but instead it catches you, pulls you into its lap the way it so often does these days and squeezes your body tight. Half-playing, half-annoyed; you struggle and writhe madly in its grip. You’re giving it all you’ve got to try and get away; just testing, just wondering if you could, but you absolutely can’t. The being’s body is so unnaturally powerful, like pulling against the iron arms of a statue for it to let go of you. 

“If there were any pests in our house I would eat them,” it asserts, its breath painting your neck wet. “No one is allowed to frighten my mate but _me.”_

The playful tussling comes to a sudden stop. You let out a little puff of air to blow your hair back out of your eyes. 

“Or our son?” You ask, craning your neck to look back at it from the corner of your eye. 

“Or our son,” Pennywise answers.

It pauses. Then kisses you long and hard on the side of your jaw.

You don’t know why, but you think for a moment about how much you missed it whenever it left you. How much you would have given anything to be held in its arms and feel its lips on your skin again, showing you how much it loves you, and you wish you could go back in time and tell yourself that someday things would be better. 

Back in time to Vermont, you imagine, or maybe even before that. What if you could go back in time and comfort yourself, and take all the pain and the fear of not knowing away? All those nights puking out the window of Jody’s backseat, heartbreak and booze and this empty new house. Always wondering what was missing inside of you. Asking yourself every day why you couldn’t just be normal like everyone else, why happiness and fulfillment and being an adult came so easily to the people growing around you. Wondering if you’d ever have anything close to what you have now. 

“You should tell him that sometimes,” you tell your husband, quietly, “that you care for him… I think it would help him— help you guys, I mean, a lot.” 

Pennywise’s grip softens. 

“I do tell him, sometimes, before he sleeps...”

“Really?” You turn to the side. “I’ve never seen you do that.” 

“Not out loud,” it amends, “in our heads.” 

“You talk to Buddy that way?” 

“I put images in his mind. Memories, colors, sounds... He understands me, when I do it.” 

“Huh.” You pause for a moment, eyes trailing up at your ceiling. There’s a handprint up there, just big enough to be your mate’s, and you wonder for a second what the hell it could have been doing up there. 

A smile works its way across your face, vanishing just as quickly as it arrived. Then, something odd twinges in your chest. 

“I’m jealous of you guys sometimes,” you admit, out of nowhere. “You both have these sick ass powers… and meanwhile I can barely drive a car...”

Pennywise frowns a bit. “I believe humans have more power than they think.”

You shrug in response. 

It doesn’t matter though.

The clown presses on with, “Do you remember your dream? Your premonition that the Losers would try and kill me?”

“Oh yeah,” the answer pours hurriedly out of your mouth, excited by the prospect. “I’d kind of forgotten about that one honestly...” but then you pause. “Y’know…Sometimes... I think I only had it because I was pregnant with Buddy. I don’t know how to explain it, but sometimes I feel like he has this sixth sense… like, he can definitely sense stuff for sure, I know _that…_ But I mean, I just mean I think that him and I being connected— when I was pregnant… it made me have that vision.” You reach your hand up, to cup the side of your face. “I’m glad it wasn’t true though. They didn’t hurt my baby, and they certainly didn’t kill you…” 

Pennywise moves your hand away, and kisses you once more before the two of you head back up the stairs to check on your son. 

  
  



End file.
